


More Than Just Pretty

by Too_many_fandoms007



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Anxiety, Bad French, Beauxbatons, Book 4: Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire, Character Study, Explicit Language, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Insecurity, Light Angst, Self-Doubt, Sexism, Tags May Change, Triwizard Tournament, Veela
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-11
Updated: 2019-01-11
Packaged: 2019-10-08 03:58:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17379173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Too_many_fandoms007/pseuds/Too_many_fandoms007
Summary: Pretty. Just pretty. Nothing more, nothing less. Not, "Oh she's pretty great!" or, "She's pretty smart!" Just, "She's pretty!"Pretty. Was that all that she was, all that she'd ever be? Pretty? Not intelligent or kind or creative. Not powerful or ambitious or witty. Just pretty.But, what if, she thought, I want to be more than pretty? More than just something to look at, more than just a double take or lingering stare? What if there's more to me? What if I am more than just pretty? What then?





	More Than Just Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! I'm not dead! Sorry for the delay, moving took more out of me then I expected. I warned you that I dont have an updating schedule... Anyways, this is an idea that I've seen bouncing around and I've always wanted to take it further and explore it deeper. So be prepared for some family fluff, self-discovery, some slight angst, and some poorly, Google translated French that most certainly does not do the language any sort of justice. But seeing as I don't know French, this is the best that I can come up with. If any of you guys do know French then just message me. Id gladly appreciate any help that I can get.

Pretty. Just pretty. Nothing more, nothing less. Not, "Oh she's pretty great!" or, "She's pretty smart!" Just, "She's pretty!"

Pretty. Was that all that she was, all that she'd ever be? Pretty? Not intelligent or kind or creative. Not powerful or ambitious or witty. Just pretty. 

But, what if, she thought, I want to be more than pretty? More than just something to look at, more than just a double take or lingering stare? What if there's more to me? What if I am more than just pretty? What then?

She used to not notice them, the stares. The lingering gazes and hungry eyes. She used to not notice how many heads would turn when she entered a room. How people were always tripping over themselves and falling on their arses just to please her every whim. 

One day though, when she was still a little girl, nearly seven, she finally noticed. She was curious, as all seven-year-olds are. She wondered why people acted this way around her and not around her friends. So, she went to the only source of knowledge she knew at the time; her mother. 

Her mother sat her down, took her hands in hers, and replied softly, "C'est parce qu'ils n'ont jamais vu quelqu'un d'aussi beau que toi auparavant. Vous êtes en partie Veela, mon petit ange, et Veela est connu pour être l'une des plus belles créatures de la planète. Mais c'est simplement leur raison. La vraie raison est parce qu'ils ne peuvent pas se contrôler. Alors ne vous fâchez pas pour leurs regards. Si elles vont regarder, donnez-leur quelque chose à regarder." 

Taking her mother's words to heart, Fleur did. 

She still noticed the stares, but instead of being something to get upset over, she let herself enjoy them. Instead of counting heads she counted smiles, instead of deflecting compliments she gave them. She harnessed her beauty, wore it proudly and used it as a weapon. She made sure that her inner beauty was just as strong as her outer beauty. She made sure to stay at the top of all her classes, took the time to tutor younger students and help whenever she could. 

She stayed after class to help Madame Belcourt clean up the spilled potion ingredients. She stayed up all night comforting a student after their grandmother died. She hexed any boy that got a little too close to any of her friends because she knew what it was like to be in that situation but have nobody there to help. 

Of course, this didn't stop the whispers. The rumors. All the nasty things that were said about her behind her back. Like she was only top of the class because she slept with the teacher. Or that she uses her veela charms and looks to get what she wants. She knew what other people thought of her, especially the girls. 

Oh, the girls hated her. They hated that she was better looking than them, that she was smarter than them. They hated how all the boys fawned over her, that they all loved her. 

Yes, she thought bitterly, how fortunate am I to be blessed with their stares, with their too long gazes and constant "accidental" brushes or slips. How lucky am I to constantly question whether he actually wants to be my friend or whether he just wants to have sex with me. How lucky am I to question whether or not they actually like me, or if they are just charmed by my looks. How lucky. 

But luckily for her, she had long ago learned to ignore them. To keep her head held high and her back straight. To keep all doubt beneath the surface. To hold up a perfect facade. A flawless composure. After all, that's what they expected. 

But that didn't mean that she was unbreakable. That didn't mean that she didn't cry or scream or throw things. That didn't mean that she didn't and couldn't get angry, or sad. She wasn't made of marble and stone, and she could break like glass. There were times where she felt terrible, fat and ugly. Because yes she was part veela but she was also part human, and humans aren't perfect. So when she'd get a breakout or a sunburn, or when her stomach looked different then it had last week, she would break. 

Because she was meant to be perfect. She was Fleur Delacour, part veela part human. She was pretty. She was perfect. She was meant to be the best. The prettiest; perfect. She was meant to be fucking perfect. 

But no. No, she was not. She was not perfect and that's okay. Yes, she was Fleur Delacour but she was not perfect. She was allowed to have breakouts, allowed to get sunburns instead of tans, she was allowed to break and cry and scream. She was allowed to get angry and sad and moody because yes she's part veela but she's also part human, and humans aren't perfect. 

So she did her makeup, dressed up nice, was charming and polite and a perfect lady, but now it was different. Because instead of doing it for them, she was doing it for her. She did it for herself, and no one else, because the only opinion that mattered was hers. 

And she thought that she was perfectly imperfect. 

When the Triwizard Tournament was announced, she knew that this was her chance. This was her chance to show the world what she already knew. So she applied. Threw her name into the Goblet of Fire, traveled to Hogwarts, and got chosen as one of the three champions. Or, at least she thought it was three. Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, he was in the competition, and Fleur was furious. She hated him. Because this was supposed to be her chance, she was supposed to win and show the world that she was more than just pretty, more than just her looks. 

But no. That wasn't going to happen because stupid Harry fucking Potter was in the tournament and now he was all anyone was talking about. But instead of letting herself dwell on things she couldn't change, Fleur decided to dwell on how she was going to win. She focused on the tasks, on the present. She faced the dragon and survived with barely a scratch. Feeling proud, she thought that if all the tasks were that easy then surely she would win. 

But during the next task, something went wrong. Everything was going as planned until she got to the grindylows. Of course, she knew what they were and how to handle them, but for some reason, they were extremely aggressive that day. They came swarming at her all at once, and one of them popped her air bubble. Panicking, she searched for her wand only to find that one of the grindylows had stolen it. After several long seconds of trying to get it back, she managed to wrestle it free, but by that time she was nearly out of air. Knowing that there wasn't enough time to cast the Bubblehead charm, she instead cast a simple spell that caused her to shoot out of the water, gasping in air just in time. 

Disappointed but not discouraged, she focused on preparation for the third task. Running through the maze, she never expected her good friend Viktor to turn on her. He caught her off guard, cursing her and leaving her unconscious on the maze floor. Later she learned that it was really a Death Eater that was controlling her friend, so of course, she forgave him and is still good friends with him. 

Her previous plan for victory and recognition aside, she found herself thrust into a war that she never remembered signing up for. Of course, she was still willing to fight and help in any way she could, after all, Voldemort was a threat to all, and all included her family. 

But she was still scared. 

But no, she had no time to be scared. Scared was for people who weren't at war. Instead, she remembered her mother's teachings. She took lessons from her everyday life and put them to use, teaching others those lessons too. She fought and she fought and she fought. 

Once the war was over she realized something. The war against Voldemort and his followers was never the war she was fighting. No, she was fighting a much larger, much bigger war. She had been fighting that war since she asked that question at seven years old, and would probably be fighting that war till the day she died. 

But no matter what life threw at her, no matter what wars she did or didn't fight in, she would always remember to keep her head up high. 

She would always remember that she was perfectly imperfect and that she was more than just pretty.

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys hope you enjoyed that. Feel free to leave a comment or kudos if you did or don't, that's cool too. I've always loved Fleur and felt like her character deserved more than what J.K. Rowling gave her. Anyways, good night/day/whenever you're reading this. :)


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